Uncovered
by Tavyn
Summary: Missing moment from season 1 episode 5, Fail-Safe. Sara knows it's bad that she and Leonard have started getting so close, so fast, and she has to stop it. Her plan to put as much space as possible between them is working fine - that is, until they get locked in that closet in the Russian banya (or steam room, sauna, bath house - basically, all synonyms for damn hot). Alone.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Late response for the FiccingCaptainCanary prompt, "Small Spaces," and a follow up to my S1 missing moment story, "White Lies." Another missing moment, this takes place during S1 episode 1x5, Fail-Safe. I meant for this to be a one-shot, but I got a bit carried away with the idea - so look forward to chapter 2 of this coming soon. Thanks so much to Crazygirlne and ClaudiaRain for all your encouragement on this and for listening to me rant and tease about it for literally weeks. You're the best! Hope you guys enjoy it.

* * *

 _You play better in your sleep._

Or at least, according to the handwritten note Leonard left tucked under Sara's pillow. It was the first thing she saw when she woke that morning – the words, and the man who wrote them, the first things on her mind.

Eyes still heavy with sleep, she smiled, her last memories of the night before pooling up into her consciousness.

"Am I that boring?" he'd asked, as she nodded off.

"Winning's too easy," she'd slurred, her cards falling to the bed.

"You lost the last three hands."

"Gotta…feed your…ego," she'd sighed, before the darkness pulled her under.

She turned his note over in her hand, glad they'd been in her room. He must've left and –

And she froze, her stomach dropping as she realized just how completely she'd let her guard down, with _him_.

The fact that she'd slept at all was incredible enough. She barely slept lately, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd fallen asleep in _front_ of someone. Laurel, maybe, right after her resurrection, in those days when sleep had been a welcome relief from the bloodlust. How quickly that relief had faded.

 _You play better in your sleep._

She dropped the note to the floor, groaning as she rubbed her hands over her face. In the League, Nyssa was the only person she'd ever slept in front of. She wracked her brain, trying to remember anyone else, realizing that in years, she could count on one hand the number of people she'd trusted that much – Ollie, Sin, Nyssa, Laurel –

And now, Leonard.

 _Leonard._

Of all people.

They'd spent the past two days together, what with Rip busy trying to identify the gulag where Stein, Ray and Mick were being held. Jax had been relegated to the med bay with some kind of sympathy torture sickness. Tensions were still high between Sara and Kendra since their failed training session, and they'd been avoiding each other.

That left Leonard. He was struggling, she knew, furious with Rip for putting him in a position where he was forced to leave his partner behind. She didn't blame him. She'd seen enough of Mick and Leonard together to know how much they meant to each other. They reminded her of how she was with Laurel, really. They had their disagreements, sure, they got on each other's nerves. But at the end of the day, she'd be hard pressed to think of anyone more important in her life, and she knew that if it were Laurel in that gulag, she'd be handling it much worse than Leonard was.

So, she'd taken it upon herself to distract him. With cards, of course.

And with cards, had come flirting – harmless, she told herself, and talking. With talking, had come sharing, too much, apparently, and his note was a brutal reminder that she was letting him in, and far too quickly for someone she couldn't risk letting in at all.

It was bad enough that she'd been relieved when he was the one who made it back from the mission that had left three of their own imprisoned. She hadn't even known it was happening, so it was even worse that when Kendra said, _"They've been captured,"_ her heart had dropped as her mind turned immediately to him.

 _You play better in your sleep._

The words haunted her through the day.

She tried to ignore them, especially through their planning with Rip, but they were practically screaming in her head when Leonard leaned in close, breaking into her space as he was becoming more and more fond of doing.

By the time she had the chance to work out her frustrations on a few Russian goons, she'd already resolved to put as much distance as she could between them. Once they had Mick back, she knew it would be easier – the less time they spent alone, the better. She just had to get through this mission, and then he'd be safe from her, and she…she would be safer without him.

It was a great plan. Flawless. For all of about ten minutes, it worked.

Then they got locked in that closet in the Russian banya – or bathhouse, sauna, steam room – basically, all synonyms for damn _hot._

Alone.

"It's stuck."

Sara jostled the door again. It was useless, without any handle on the inside. She kicked it in disgust, then turned to Leonard, glaring at him. "This is all your fault."

It wasn't really, she knew that. If it was anyone's fault, it was Rip's, like always. He was the one who left them to investigate an unusual noise while he went off to bargain with Yuri the Bear. The most she could blame Leonard for was following her so closely that they were both in the closet when the door swung shut, trapping them inside.

"Yes," Leonard drawled, "because all I wanted was a good steam."

Sara crossed her arms, leaning as far back against the wall as she could. There was maybe two feet between them – if that – and it was all the personal space they were going to get.

She fought back a sigh. The tension was bad enough while they played cards, with more than twice as much space to work with. This closet was barely bigger than a shower, and not the kind with a tub, either. In fact, now that she was thinking about it, she was certain she'd had sex in showers bigger than this.

But it wasn't a shower. And they weren't about to have sex. Even if he was looking at her like it.

"It's gotta be like a hundred degrees in here," she complained, not that thinking of the heat much improved her previous train of thought.

Making the tight space feel even tighter, one corner was crowded with a pile of towels. Unfortunately, they looked just as likely to be dirty as clean, as tempting as they were compared to the leather that was already sticking uncomfortably to her body. She glanced up, searching for the source of soft orange light that was filling the space. There was an opening at the ceiling, connecting the closet to the rest of the complex. At least they'd have a steady air supply, she thought – even if it was letting the steam in, too.

"It's more like a hundred-fifteen degrees," Leonard said, casually studying his nails. "At two hundred percent humidity."

Easy for him to say it like it was boring. He was the one wearing a robe.

"And you know this how?" she snapped.

"It's important to know all the facts before you go in on a job, Lance."

"Yeah?" She crossed her arms. "How about the fact that we're gonna die of heat stroke if we don't get out of here?"

"Oh, we'll be found long before that happens," he replied, easily. "Isn't the idea of getting caught so exciting?"

She rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to draw one of her daggers on him. Judging by the way his mouth twitched in response – faint hint of his trademark smirk playing at his lips – he'd read her thoughts exactly. It was infuriating how much pleasure he took at the idea of being skewered.

"Rip'll be back in a minute," she said, refusing to be needled.

"Mhm," he hummed, sarcastically. "Funny, how easily he got rid of us. Guess we couldn't be trusted in his negotiations. So why bother coming back for us?"

His words sent a trail of unease running down her back.

"He wouldn't leave us on purpose," she argued.

He shrugged. "You're right, he probably got himself killed without us around to protect him."

"He needs us," she insisted, even as she remembered how Rip had left her out of the last mission entirely.

"Oh yes," Leonard drawled. "Killer and klepto. How would the 'team' survive without us around to do all the dirty work?"

She grimaced, his words leaving her cold despite the oppressive heat. "I told you. I'm done killing."

He paused, pinning her with a knowing stare. "Don't think he won't ask you to again."

She looked down at that, stomach twisting uncomfortably. She didn't want to believe it, but he was probably right. Sara knew she was only good at one thing, and it was the only reason Rip had recruited her in the first place:

She was a killer.

As much as she wanted, she wasn't sure she could ever be anything else.

They lapsed into silence, Sara losing herself in the dark thoughts. The longer they stood, the more the heat pressed down on her, seeping into every pore and stifling her every breath.

"Are you plotting something, I hope?" she asked, eventually. They hadn't been waiting long, yet, but she was already way past uncomfortable, and she hadn't been kidding about the death-by-heatstroke thing. In these temperatures, she really wasn't sure how long they'd last.

Leonard took a deep breath at her words, as if they'd drawn him out of his own haze. As cool as he always seemed, he'd been in the banya for longer than her when they got locked in, and he had to be feeling it now.

"No," he said, the word falling out in a sigh, "just replaying the memory of Yuri the Bear beating on Rip. Over, and over, and over. Wish you could've seen it."

"Seriously, Len?" She couldn't keep the frustration from her voice. "This is not the time. We need to find a way out of here."

He scowled. "There is no way out of here," he insisted, growing agitated himself. "My partner is out there, locked in a gulag, being tortured and maybe murdered. You think I wanna be in here?" He shook his head. "No."

Sara softened at that, forcing herself to take a deep breath despite the stickiness of the air.

"I get how much Rory means to you," she said, calmly. "We're gonna get him out. And Stein, and Ray."

"Don't care about them," he snapped. "My priority is Mick."

Sara dropped her head back against the wall behind her, stifling a groan. Of course Snart didn't care about the rest of the team.

"Well," she started, returning to the problem at hand, "we can't do anything for anyone stuck in here."

He nodded, slowly. "Alright," he agreed. "Let's worry about _us_ first."

She bristled, glaring at him. Did he have to turn _everything_ into an innuendo? It was probably best to ignore it and not feed his desire to tease her – and yet…

 _You play better in your sleep._

If he was even a little serious, she needed to squash this – right here, right now.

She made sure to put as much conviction as threat into her words when she replied, "Don't say it like that."

He merely lifted an eyebrow.

"There is no 'us,'" she clarified. "It's just me…" she paused, putting her hand to her chest, "and you." She pointed at him. "Not, 'me and you.'" She swatted at the air between them. "Got it?"

"I'm starting to."

A devilish smile played at his lips, and she had a sneaking suspicion that she'd just made everything worse.

For a while, they just stood, arms crossed and watching each other.

"Stop it," she said, finally.

"What?" The way he said it, the word dropping from his mouth like it was hardly a question at all, proved that he knew _exactly_ "what."

She was seething by the time she could answer. "Looking at me."

He titled his head, eyes wide in mock innocence. "There's nothing else to look at."

That much was true, she supposed – not that she needed the reminder that there were less than two feet between them, at best, and the walls were closing in every second.

"Well then stop looking at me like _that_."

"Like what?" he challenged. "You're the one undressing me with your eyes."

She put a hand on her hip, wincing when her elbow scraped the wall.

"You wish," she spat.

"Are you sure it's just me who's wishing?" he said, words thick with suggestion. Then he sighed, rolling his shoulders and wiping sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. "Right now, all I wish is to get out of this heat." He glared up at the ceiling, as though the steam rolling down on them had personally offended him. "But I'm sure we could find a few ways to pass the time, if you're interested."

She rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore the suggestion, even if she was, she could admit to herself, just the teeniest bit interested. That was exactly why they couldn't go there.

"Why does the Russian mob hold meetings in a steam room anyway?" she asked, avoiding a direct response.

"It's pretty simple, really," he started, taking her subject change in stride. "It's a test," he continued. "You, and your potential business partner, are both exposed. Vulnerable." He paused. "The banya is all about learning who can be trusted," he said. Then he met her eyes, and even through the steam, the blueness of them made her breath catch. "Tell me, Lance," his eyes stayed on hers, dark and startling in their intensity, "do you trust me?"

It took her a moment to register the question, a moment for her to wrench her eyes away from his long enough to realize what he'd asked.

' _Bout as far as I can throw you_ , was what she wanted to say. The retort was on the tip of her tongue, ready to be thrown out dismissively when it hit her like a punch to the gut – it wasn't true.

 _You play better in your sleep._

He'd never have had the chance to leave that note if she weren't, at least on some level, starting to trust him. It was incredible, ridiculous, unfathomable – after she'd died, she hadn't thought she'd ever be able to trust anyone again, besides maybe her sister. But then...

The words died in her throat.

"Do you trust me?" she countered, instead, shifting uncomfortably.

"With my life," he replied, easily. Like it was nothing.

She scoffed, telling herself it was smoke and mirrors, just another lie to get under her skin. But then he raised his eyebrows at her, and she had a sinking feeling that he was telling the truth.

"Why?"

Even more absurd than her trusting him was the thought that he would return it. She was a _killer._ He knew that. He knew what she could do. So why –

He paused, looking down as he considered. "I don't know."

He said it with such sincerity, so rare on him, that she had to believe him. He trusted her without knowing why and she trusted him, without even asking herself why.

And she had to get out of here.

"You shouldn't," she warned him.

"I'll be the judge of that," he replied, smoothly.

"Then you're a lousy judge."

He just shrugged, effectively ending the conversation, and they slipped into another uneasy silence. Sara wasn't sure how long they'd been locked in, but judging by the pounding in her head, already too long.

The steam was everywhere, pushing beads of sweat down her forehead and water particles down her throat. She was drowning, she realized, slowly, in the heat, in the humidity, in Leonard – she avoided looking at him at the thought – because she could not, would not, be tempted. No.

"Aren't you hot?" she asked, finally, when she couldn't stand it another second.

"A little chilly, actually," he snarked, wrapping his robe tighter around him.

She sighed, wiping vainly at the sweat covering her arms. Her legs were screaming at her, sticky and sweltering in her leather. And it didn't matter what it might or might not do to him. She had to get out of this suit.

"You might be fine, but I'm not," she said, turning to loosen the strap at her neck and eyeing him for a reaction. "Do you mind?"

He gave her only the slightest twitch of an eyebrow and sweep of his hand in agreement. "Be my guest."

She nodded, forcing herself to stop fussing with the neck piece, despite how desperate she was to get it off, and deciding to start with her boots instead. She supposed it made more sense given she had nothing else to cover herself with and a far too attractive man watching her every move.

She bent over as much as she could to get at the laces, trying to ignore the sight of Snart's feet and hint of legs as she came eye-level with them, trying even harder to ignore her imagination filling in what the rest of him might look like.

She stood abruptly, kicking one boot off, then the other, pushing them to the side with her now blissfully bare foot. Slowly, she relieved herself of her belt, watching Leonard's impassive expression for any break, dropping it to the ground with a heavy plunk. He held until she fished out her loose weapons, letting each follow the next to the growing heap on the floor. That was when his eyebrows raised – grudging admission of admiration – and she had to bite back a smile.

By the time she had her last knife in hand, twirling it absently, she found her eyes moving between the pile of towels (who knew how many sweaty, smelly men had used them before her, or when they were last washed) and the hem of Leonard's robe.

It was an easy choice, really.

The only warning she gave him was a wicked grin, before she went at him with her knife.

"What's happening?" he asked, just the slightest hint of panic in his voice, and she took maybe a little too much satisfaction at the way he pushed himself back into the corner. Still, he didn't flinch at her approach.

"Just borrowing this," she said, mildly, grabbing the loose edge of the robe and cutting it in one swift motion, ripping off a swath of fabric about large enough for her chest.

"That's stealing," Leonard corrected, but her grin only widened as she held up her spoils.

"What do they call a thief of thieves, hm?" she wondered, eyeing Leonard's exposed calves before dropping the knife and turning to face the wall.

"A rogue," Leonard suggested, annoyance directed at her back.

Sara smirked to herself, releasing her neck strap finally, and pulling her corset loose.

"'Seductress' might also apply," he added, lightly, as she tugged the front piece away. She breathed out, swallowing a sigh of relief.

"That would imply there's someone around for me to seduce," she replied, rolling her shoulders before tying the piece of robe around herself like a bandeau.

"You're certainly welcome to try."

Sara's hands hesitated at her waist as she decided on her next move. Her legs were begging for freedom from the leather, and it wasn't like she had any quibbles with modesty. And yet…

 _You play better in your sleep._

She was supposed to be putting a stop to – well – whatever this was between them. Undressing in front of him was about the opposite of that.

But she had to do _something_ if she wanted to stay conscious. She was already swaying on the spot, and she had to throw out a hand to brace herself on the stone wall. Really, she had no choice.

It left her feeling both pleased and regretful that she'd chosen to wear red lace under her suit today.

She turned around, leaning back against the wall for support and meeting Leonard's eyes.

"This is not an invitation," she warned.

"Course not," he replied, seriously, although his eyes said something a little more mischievous.

She swallowed, tugging at her waistband, never letting her eyes leave his, lest he get any ideas. To his credit, his gaze didn't waver, not even as she slid the pants over her hips, not even when she bent to tug them off leg by leg. After that, she couldn't say – she lost herself in an audible moan, too overwhelmed by the relief of her exposed skin.

Her body sang with contentment as she stretched, lifting up onto her tip toes and raising her arms above her head as high as they would go. And maybe that little white strip of fabric stretched with her, letting more of her skin breathe. So what? Snart could deal. When she released the stretch, she gauged his reaction, feeling a little more smug than she had a moment before.

She decided she'd never get tired of that look on his face. It was something like surprise, mixed with respect, and a healthy dose of desire. She tried not to enjoy it. She failed.

"Now what?" he asked, several lingering moments later.

"I guess we just wait, and try not to die."

"In a steam room," he added, running a hand over his face. "This is ridiculous."

"Well," she said, "there are worse ways to go."

He inclined his head to her in agreement. It was brief, but she still felt it the moment his eyes finally trailed over her body, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

His voice was rough when he responded. "There certainly are."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I hope you guys enjoy part 2 of this! It's still rated T, but I'll warn you that it's probably not exactly safe for reading at work ;) I'll be finishing chapter 10 of Back to Me next (which, I see these missing moments as existing in the BTM universe, but you don't have to read them that way). I just wanted to do something a little...steamier...first - let me know if you guys would want to see more scenes like this. Oh, and this chapter also includes my very late fill for the FiccingCaptainCanary prompt, "You know, Gideon could just replicate one of those for you." Thanks as always to Crazygirlne and ClaudiaRain for all the encouragement.

* * *

Sara let her head tip back on the stone wall behind her as she faced up toward the ceiling, relaxing her neck and closing her eyes against the heat.

It was impossible to say how long they'd been standing there in that closet, waiting, sweltering, sweating out every last drop of water in their bodies. Hours, it felt like.

And yet, even with her eyes closed and the exhaustion already setting in, Sara was all too aware of her senses. Of the walls, pressing in on her. Of the steam, swirling around her like smoke. Of Leonard, standing within arm's reach.

For a moment, she found herself imagining what it would be like if he took just one step forward, and leaned in close. If he rested his hands on the wall behind her, on either side of her head, and dipped in low. If he invaded her space, pressing his lips against hers. If she let him.

It was too easy to see it. To feel it. To want it.

Shit.

She tried to stop the images there – she did. But it wasn't long before she'd blocked out the heat and all else except –

Except the thought of how it would be if she ripped that stupid robe off him. If his fingers trailed along her thighs while he slipped that little red lace out of the way. And she lingered on wondering how it would feel to have her legs wrapped around his waist, her back pressed up against the cool wall, his face buried in her neck and her teeth nipping at his bare shoulder while he –

She opened her eyes, trying to shake out of it.

"I'm seeing things," she said, rolling her chin back down to look at Leonard and remind herself that he was still fully robed, still maybe-almost-two feet away from her. His eyes were heavy and half-lidded, and she swallowed as it occurred to her that he'd probably been staring at her neck.

Or any of the rest of her bare skin. All of it was uncovered, save for a little red lace and the bandeau she'd fashioned from a piece of his robe.

"What kinds of things?" he asked, smoothly.

She shrugged, still not willing to give in, and wiped her face against her arm. All it really did was move the sweat around.

She sighed. "Rip's dead, isn't he?"

"Definitely."

Her legs were groaning, her head was spinning, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could realistically stay standing.

"Okay, look," she said, "I think we can sit down if we both go at the same time."

"Please, can I be the little spoon?"

Despite his sarcastic words, they had no bite to them, and she could tell by the look on his face he was as tired as she was.

"Just shut up and squat," she said, though there was no malice in her words either.

She turned, putting her back to him, placing her hands lightly on the walls for support.

"Whenever you're ready," she added, glancing around at him to catch the look on his face. She expected lust, so she was surprised to see something closer to…reverence. She blinked, too taken aback to say anything else.

He swallowed, schooling his features and nodding sharply before beginning to slide down the wall behind him.

They maneuvered as best they could, the act of sitting more of a feat than she'd expected. And if it had been a game of Twister she might've really enjoyed it, and maybe she really enjoyed it, anyway.

Even when she accidentally jabbed her elbow into his stomach.

"Sorry," she said, as he grunted.

"You're not sorry," he grumbled, voice hitched.

"Okay, I'm not _that_ sorry."

They'd made it almost all the way down when he slipped unexpectedly, taking the last few inches all at once. She couldn't blame him when his hand shot out for support, grasping onto the front of her stomach with his fingers splayed wide, drawing her back into his chest.

Now she was the one swallowing, her stomach hot under his touch.

He removed his hand almost immediately, of course, and she sat up and as far away as possible. They settled into as respectable a distance as they could, given the circumstances.

The circumstances did not allow for any sort of distance at all.

He was all legs and they were everywhere, surrounding her in that small space. She kept hers folded neatly together in the middle, trying her best not to touch his. But after a minute or two they grew tired, and she was already so tired. So she let one leg fall slowly to the side, tentatively resting it against his, knee and thigh against thigh. When he didn't complain, she relaxed her left leg against his, too.

He had nowhere to put his hands at all, she understood that. But when he placed them on her arms, ever so lightly, long fingers wrapping around and burning to the touch, she shivered.

Eventually – and sooner than she'd care to admit – she gave up any last pretense, and let herself fall back against Leonard's chest. She'd lost all her strength, and he didn't seem to mind, or at least, he didn't tell her to move.

She did, however, complain about his robe.

"It's so itchy," she whined, reaching back around to move it aside. "How have you stayed in this thing?"

"I'll take it off for you," he acquiesced, catching her hand in her efforts to swipe the robe out of the way. "But do me a favor," he added, "and don't look."

She paused, processing the feeling of her hand in his as much as his request. She assumed he was joking – until she remembered that she'd never seen him in anything less than a long-sleeve shirt.

"I won't," she promised.

He must have heard the sincerity in her tone, because he released her hand, and wordlessly pulled his arms out of the robe. He left the bottom part on, wrapped around his waist, and while she wanted to complain about that, too, she resisted. If he removed that, there'd be nothing left between them at all.

As it was, she could feel his body heat radiating off him even before she laid back, sighing happily – only for Leonard to push her forward again.

"Hey," she complained, as he began untying the knot of her bandeau.

"If you're allowed to ask me to take off the itchy robe," he started, "I can undo this godawful knot. It's going to poke a hole in me otherwise."

His hands brushed against her skin as he worked, and there was something almost too tender about the way he gently smoothed the fabric flat against her back, and tugged her to once again lean on him.

It left her with an ache in her stomach that felt startlingly like…contentment.

She told herself it was only lust, the result of being pressed up practically naked against one another, but it was more than that. It was the way her head fit so perfectly tucked in the crook of his neck, and the way he was resting his cheek on her hair. It was the way he was holding her without holding her, his fingers light on her arms, her back against his chest, and nothing else in the world but them.

"We're going to die like this, Len," she groaned, swallowing around the cloying heat of the steam and letting her eyes fall closed.

"No, we're not," he said, gently, his breath in her ear sending a jolt through her body, all the way to her fingertips and toes.

"Well, at this rate, we'll be passed out by the time they find us," she retorted. She shifted herself to get more comfortable, bringing her entire back in contact with his front to stretch herself out a little, resting her head back on his shoulder. "Passed out _and_ naked," she added.

"Can't we just say we were playing strip poker?" he asked, teasingly. She opened her eyes to find his looking down on her, studying her with more affection than she could have imagined.

"Then it'll seem even more like we were trying to get in each other's pants."

He smirked. "Exactly. And that I was winning."

She wanted to argue that really, he was wearing less than she was now. But she couldn't speak, she was so entranced by his eyes, by the nearness of him, by a feeling she couldn't name settling over her even more completely than the heat.

Maybe it was peace.

"What are these?" he asked after a moment, his fingers dancing over the scars at the bottom of her rib cage.

His eyes never left hers in the asking. He must have seen them the moment she undressed, must have been waiting to ask all this time. She'd been so distracted by how safe she felt even stripped bare before him that she'd honestly forgotten they were there.

"That happened when I died."

Her voice was softer than she'd intended. It was surprising she'd managed to speak at all, though, with the way he was watching her, the way she was held captive by his eyes.

His mouth formed a hard line. "Who was it? That killed you?"

Sara couldn't quite say what the emotion was in his words, but they reverberated through his chest and echoed into her. She may have imagined it, but she thought he tightened his grip on her, just a bit, as he said it, drawing her even closer to him.

"Malcolm Merlyn," she said. He was the one responsible, anyway.

"Is he still alive?"

"Like a cockroach."

"I'll kill him."

She could hear it now, the protectiveness. The threat in Leonard's voice, directed at anyone who dared to touch her.

And she believed him. She didn't know why, didn't know what she'd done to deserve his protection. She knew she didn't need it, not really, and yet… For reasons she couldn't understand, it felt nice. It felt good, that for once someone was concerned with what happened to her, rather than with what she might do to someone else.

"Aw, that's sweet," she cooed, reaching for teasing to lighten the mood. "You'd be lucky to have the chance," she added. "If you did, I hope you'd be a gentleman and let the lady have first try."

"Of course," he murmured, and she let her eyes shut again. It was a useless battle trying to pretend he didn't make her feel like everything was right with the world.

Instead, she focused on her breathing. Every inhale was an effort, with the steam falling down on them in a mist, and no fresh air to take in.

But she realized she was taking in _him_ , each breath more and more, inhaling the smell of him.

He smelled like, well, she couldn't quite put her finger on what he smelled like, but she liked it. Damn him.

She liked it, and she liked _this_ , just being with him, wrapped up in him in a way that was somehow even more intimate than sex.

"This was a bad idea," she gasped, eyes snapping open. "We need to stand up or I'm going to pass out."

His eyes had fallen closed, too, and he started at her words, barely managing a nod. He released her then, finally, bracing his hands against the walls as they pushed themselves back up to standing.

It went more smoothly than the sitting had, maybe because this time they weren't trying not to touch. Sara let herself lean back on him, using him for support until she thought her legs were strong enough to hold her own weight.

Maybe they would've been, but she made a misstep in that moment, foot catching on one of the loose towels on the floor.

She slipped, spinning around as she reached wildly for a handhold, certain her head was going to careen into the wall.

Except that Leonard caught her. He braced her, tugging her chest close to his even as her little bandeau slipped away, leaving nothing but skin between them.

She should've pulled away, should've grabbed at the scrap of fabric and covered herself. But she didn't. She leaned into it, sighing as she was pulled flush up against him. His arms wrapped around her, holding her up, steady and secure.

She hadn't felt this safe with anyone since before she'd died, and it made her feel so _god_ _damned_ _alive_.

"This whole time you were wearing boxers under there?" she managed, noticing the fabric brushing against her leg, even though Leonard's robe had fallen completely off.

"Disappointed?"

 _Frankly_.

But she could still feel him through the thin fabric, and that weight against her thigh felt so _right_. She was too dizzy to even try to banish the thought, so instead she enjoyed it, inhaling slightly as her knees gave out.

"Oh, don't act surprised," he said, before she could speak, and she grinned into his shoulder. "I'm a man, not a statue. Even if I do look like David."

"And you're so modest."

"Never saw a use for modesty," he drawled. "Why pretend to be anything less than you are?"

She snaked her arms around his neck, settling her face against his chest. "People will like you more."

"I don't need people to like me," he said. "You like me just fine, that's more than enough for me."

She let her fingers trail along his skin, let herself relish in the feeling of _rightness_ even as it overwhelmed her.

"How're you so sure I like you, hm?" she teased.

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" His words were soft and soothing in her ear, and she smiled again.

"The jury's still out on that one, Snart."

"I'm very good with juries, you know."

She let out a breathy laugh, and it struck her all at once how funny it was that they were chatting, like it was just a normal thing to be practically naked together, pressed up against each other and wrapped in each other's arms.

And then suddenly, it didn't seem so funny anymore.

Sara swallowed, the heat stuck in her throat, her nose in his neck, and she took a shaky breath, her lips brushing on his shoulder.

Just a few days ago, they'd argued over what it would be like to kiss. She'd known then, and knew even better now, that there could be something between them. She felt it under her skin, in the electricity every time they spoke, every time they touched. She'd even asked Leonard, challenged him, to give it a shot. But there'd been something holding him back when he'd said it wasn't the right time.

She pulled back, just enough to look into his eyes. They cut through the steam, boring a hole in her.

"How's this for timing?" she murmured.

"Well," he returned, voice low, "you're not very angry with me. Wonder how fast I could change that."

"Snart..."

She trailed her hand absently up and down his back, and he dipped in toward her.

"I'm at your mercy," he said, voice dropping even lower, promising in her ear.

So why did she feel like she was the one at his?

Sara looked between his eyes and his lips, wondering if how much she wanted this would be worth what it might cost. She was too disoriented to really understand what it was that she might lose, what there might be to gain. All she knew was the wanting, tugging at her gut as she wrapped a leg around his and swallowed, inching her mouth nearer to his. Steam poured around them, covering the last of her questions and everything else in the smoky haze, until only he remained.

She could barely breathe. And every half-breath she did inhale was full of him, and she was surrounded, enveloped, and it was more than fine.

She was dizzier than she could ever remember being. Her heart was pounding all the way to her eyes, in her ears, and his was just as loud beating against her chest.

Leonard's hands grasped her around her waist, chaste compared to the position they were in. She wanted to feel them everywhere else, but for now, they were her anchor to this moment. To this choice.

To give into her heart. Or listen to her head, telling her over and over what a mistake it could be to let this man in.

But he was ready, and so clearly waiting for her to close that minuscule distance between them. And she could already taste him.

They were both breathing heavily when she freed a hand to reach up and touch his face, just lightly, hesitating as she studied his dark eyes. She released her gaze, eyes focusing on his mouth, and she couldn't stop herself from cupping his jaw, or from rubbing a drop of sweat off his upper lip with her thumb. His lips parted.

This was it, she knew. This was the moment she gave in. Any reasons she might have had for resisting evaporated, nothing more than water droplets in the air.

She lifted onto her toes, bodies pressing even closer, slick with sweat and tense with anticipation.

His eyes fell shut, and hers followed. It didn't matter that this could be dangerous, that it could be a mistake. She couldn't think of anything she'd ever wanted more. And she was finally, finally, prepared to take it.

His breath was hot on her mouth as she tilted her head back, breaking down the last of her walls.

Then a voice cut through the room, echoing with reason and returning her to her senses as the spell broke around them.

"Snart? Sara!"

Sara fell back onto her feet with a painful thump. She was shaking as she hid her face in Leonard's shoulder, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

He was still holding her, and his arms tightened around her waist at the interruption. She hugged him back, lingering just a moment on all the what-ifs that passed between them before dropping to the floor, grabbing a towel and shouting, "Rip!"

She wrapped the towel around herself, trying not to think about any sweaty man who may or may not have used it before her as she pounded on the door, drawing Rip toward them. She glanced back at Leonard to see that he was already back in his robe, his eyes measuring the very small amount of thigh her towel covered. Her throat tightened at the sight, and she had just a moment to spare for how incredibly annoyed she was with Rip Hunter before he opened the door.

The closet was flooded with fresh air, and Sara almost collapsed with relief. But she didn't miss the way Rip's eyes moved between her and Leonard, taking in their flushed skin, the way she was grasping at her towel, the way Leonard's robe was all askew.

"Well," he said. "Making good use of your time?"

"You left us in here for hours," Sara growled. She wasn't even sure what she was saying anymore.

"It's only been –" Rip glanced at his watch. "Alright, it's been an hour and a half, I'll give you that. So, you two must be quite satisfied," he joked.

Leonard glared at him, pushing him out of the way. "If only," he muttered.

Rip's face fell as he did a double take, looking again between Sara and Leonard. "You didn't… _really_ , did you?"

"For god's sake, Rip," Sara snapped. "Get me out of here." She brushed by him too, eager to get out into the open air of the room beyond. She spared only a quick glance back to confirm that Rip would grab her things before letting her feet carry her away.

Her head was spinning, both from the heat and everything that had – and hadn't – happened with Leonard. After just a few steps, she found her breaths were too shallow, and the corners of her vision started going dark.

"Hello, pretty."

She didn't even see the Russian goon approaching, and before she knew what was happening, he'd grabbed her by the wrist.

"You must be lost. I'll help you."

Her stomach turned at the threatening suggestion in his tone. All she could see were stars when her vision turned red, and she knew before she'd even moved that she was going to kill this man, could already feel his blood beneath her fingernails as she recoiled.

And then suddenly, the grip released from her wrist, and a voice cut through the bloodlust.

" _Sara._ "

Her ears were ringing when her vision cleared, and it was Leonard standing there, her would-be assailant flat on his face.

The world was tilting by the time she found her voice. "I had it."

Leonard hummed, averting his gaze. "Everyone else got to punch someone today."

She took a shuddering breath, unable to shake the spinning in her head or the knowledge that he'd barely stopped her from killing someone. When she didn't move, he took a hesitant step forward, watching her carefully as he placed his hand gently on the small of her back.

It should've set her off again. Instead, the contact soothed her as he nudged her forward, guiding her to a changing room. It took her right back to that closet, to the way he'd cut down all her walls like they were nothing.

"About…before," she started, faltering on how to label what had passed between them. She needed to shut whatever this was down, now, while she still could. A small voice in the back of her head whispered, _If_.

If she could.

"Maybe next time, Lance," he said, easily, falling back into their old teasing.

"Next time?" she scoffed, relaxing. "You think there's gonna be another time we're trapped dying together?"

"You never know." He held open the door for her and gestured inside. "I'll take the trapped without the dying any day."

Rip appeared behind him, holding her clothes, weapons balanced precariously on top of the bundle in his arms.

"Thanks," Leonard said, smirking as he took the items and handed them over to Sara. Rip eyed the exchange suspiciously, but chose not to comment.

"Hurry up and change," he said instead. "We've got a job to do, and a team to rescue."

* * *

The rest of the day passed without either of them mentioning what had happened at the banya.

Maybe he needed to pretend it hadn't happened as much as she did. Still, pretend or not, she wasn't about to forget it anytime soon. She hadn't even seen him, really, the steam had been so thick and it all happened so fast. But she found herself remembering with all too much clarity exactly how he felt, pressed up against her, his hands on her hips.

And then, when everything had gone wrong with their mission, he'd been there. He'd been the voice in her ear talking her off the ledge as she hung teetering between falling back into the person she was, and becoming the person she so desperately wanted to be.

She'd come _this_ close to killing Stein – a member of their team. Her worst fear, nearly come to life as easily as it would've been to shoot him.

 _That's not you anymore_.

She wondered how it was that he'd come to know her so completely.

Of course he found her after the mission was over, when everyone else was celebrating. He found her standing in the dark corner of the ship she'd settled herself in, watching the others drinking and laughing from a healthy distance. It was the only place she felt she belonged after what she'd almost done. After all, how could she be part of them, when she'd nearly killed one of their own?

"My new bathrobe will never be the same," he complained, sidling up to stand beside her.

"You kept that ratty thing?" she scoffed.

She wanted to step away from him. Not that they were touching, and certainly not that they were as close as they'd been earlier, but she knew what he could do to her. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't a little afraid of it.

"Of course," he said, easily. "It's disarming, and it has nice roomy pockets, perfect for slipping things into."

She sighed, relaxing as best she could. She still didn't know how he'd earned her trust, but she did know she could trust him to understand her boundaries, and not to push them.

"You know, Gideon could just replicate one of those for you," she commented, lightly.

His voice dropped to that suggestive tone he loved to use with her. "Why would I ask her to do that, when this one makes me think of you?"

"Look," she said, turning to him, trying to sound more certain than she felt. "I'm not someone you wanna get close to."

He mimicked her movement and turned as well, pinning her with a knowing stare. "Think we know each other better than that by now."

"Yeah," she agreed, vehemently, "so you know what I'm capable of. You know I'm dangerous."

He rolled his eyes, frowning at her. "News flash. So am I."

She scoffed, pushing herself off the wall and making to leave. But then his hand wrapped around her wrist, silently asking her to stay.

"I know you think you're a monster, Sara," he said, seriously. The way he caressed her name as he spoke sent a shiver down her spine, even as the certainty in his voice calmed her. "But monsters don't hesitate."

"If it hadn't been for you –"

He interrupted her before she could argue. "I didn't say anything you weren't already thinking."

She gave him a sharp nod, swallowing hard and trying to believe she would've stopped, even without him. "Still… Thank you."

Sara still didn't know what it meant, that she suddenly had someone in her life who she could depend on. Someone who understood her faults and accepted them without blame, someone who saw her for who she was and who she could be, all at once.

It was everything, even as she tried to tell herself it was nothing.

"Come on," he needled, tugging at her wrist as he moved toward the revelry of their team. "I heard we're toasting to our first 'successful' mission."

She couldn't help but smile, just a bit, as she followed him out of her shadowy corner and into the light.


End file.
